He wandered about, searching bar after bar. At last he discovered the hobo asleep in Maria’s. Before him on the table stood a half-empty bottle. Toothpick shook him awake. However, Anson refused to move until they had finished the bottle. Toothpick was agreeable because he was now stone sober. They had emptied the bottle when, to their surprise, Anderson stepped out of the back room. His face clouded when he saw them.
“Darned good of yuh, Mr. Anderson, to steer Baldy away to-night,” Toothpick called.
Anderson smiled genially.
“That’s nothing. Is that the little bum who just discovered guns are loaded?” he asked.
Toothpick nodded.
“Who is he?”
“A hobo what got hisself thrown off the train this evenin’.”
Anderson called good night and left. The moment he was gone Jim Anson grasped Toothpick’s arm and staggered out with him. To better support the drunken hobo, Toothpick slipped a hand beneath his armpit. He jerked the hand away suddenly.
“Say, who are you?” he demanded. “Yuh got a gun there in a shoulder holster, and yuh made believe yuh didn’t savvy guns.”
The hobo dropped his stagger and stood erect.